


The Perks of War

by purple_bookcover



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, Rarepair, Robin Hood - Freeform, Secret Santa, clashe, gaspard - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21939436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_bookcover/pseuds/purple_bookcover
Summary: War came with some perks.Well, for some people.For Ashe and Claude, the end of the war means the beginning of their quest to set the world right.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 14
Kudos: 44
Collections: Fire Emblem Three Houses Rarepair Port Secret Santa





	The Perks of War

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the rarepair discord server Secret Santa! Hope you enjoy, Rachel!
> 
> I love this ship name: Clashe. It's so powerful. This was extremely fun. My basic idea was "Clashe Robin Hood" because they're both essentially do gooders trying to make the world a little more fair wherever they go, even if Ashe is more pure goodness and Claude is a bit mischievous about it. This takes place a little post-cannon.

War came with some perks.

The first perk of war: All the fighting types fucked off to some battlefield or fortification somewhere, leaving many a hamlet and village and town conspicuously empty. And if someone's wife's cousin happened to roll through, well, it was hardly an occasion worth any note in the midst of a war. 

The second perk of war: Lots of folks died. And in this most recent war, _lots_ of folks died, including one Lord Lonato, leader of a tiny but respectable territory named Gaspard. 

The third perk of war: Taxes. Heaps of taxes to fund the war effort.

And so when someone's wife's cousin rode into Gaspard with a carriage and a band of sellswords and collected taxes, it was entirely ordinary. If folks grumbled that they'd heard the war was over, or that they'd never seen the likes of this "cousin" before, or that they were strapped for coin, well, that was hardly Varsa's problem. 

To be fair, he'd given them all a choice: Give up their coins or give up their lives. And, to be fair, they'd all chosen the coins. 

Varsa bumped along to the next unlucky village, his cart jolting over the ruts in the dirt road. One downside of war: No one could be spared to maintain the damn roads. In a little backwoods place like Gaspard that meant Varsa's head struck the roof of his carriage more than once as he and his band bumbled from hamlet to hamlet. 

He was sure the next would be the same as the three before it. Scared, angry looks. Accusations. And, eventually, resignation. 

Varsa rolled a coin over his knuckles. The old trick was tough with the cart jittering like a startled cat. The coin flew away when the cart jerked to a stop. Varsa nearly struck the front of the carriage. He clambered back to his seat and pulled aside the curtain over the window, leaning his head out of the side of the carriage.

"By the goddess, what are you doing up there, driver?" Varsa shouted.

The horses stomped and snorted. He could just barely see the driver's leg. Then, more of the man slid into view as he tumbled off the seat and to the ground, an arrow through his neck.

"By the goddess's bloody t--"

"Ah, ah," a voice behind him said. "That's not very polite."

Varsa froze, his head out of the window. 

He felt a breath against his ear. "Would you like to step out of that carriage or should I help?"

Varsa shook his head and retreated into the carriage. He played at fumbling with the door, easing a shiv into his palm before getting the door open. 

When he stepped out of the carriage, a man in yellow waited for him, bow in hand. The man smiled and rubbed at the strap of scruff lining his jaw as he regarded Varsa. The small hoop he wore in one ear jangled as he tilted his head to the side and narrowed green eyes. There was something chilling and shrewd about those eyes, as though they could pierce right through Varsa and decipher his thoughts before he even knew them. 

"Don't you think you're pushing this whole 'taking advantage of wartime' thing a bit too far?" the man said.

"E-excuse me?" Varsa said. "I think you've got me mistaken, sir. I'm Gaspard's tax collector, appointed by the lord himself."

The man unleashed a boisterous laugh. He glanced over his shoulder. "Did you catch that?" he called to the trees clustered around the path.

Was the fellow mad? Varsa kept his hand behind his back, gripping the shiv before the loon could harry him further. 

But a moment before he prepared to lunge and make his attack something struck the shiv, glancing off the blade and sending it spinning out of his hand. The shock of the blow rang through his bones. Varsa let out a shriek and cradled his hand against his chest. 

"What in all the-- How did you--" Varsa spluttered.

The man before him wagged a finger. "Now, now. You didn't really think I'd take on all your little sellswords alone, did you?"

Varsa's blood went cold. Come to think of it, where _were_ all those swords he'd hired? He searched, but the guards who should have been stationed around the carriage were gone. He spotted one woman in the trees, face down in the foliage with an arrow in her back. 

"W-what are you?" Varsa said. "Who are you?"

"Me? Ah, no one special. You can call me Claude. But my friend..."

A man materialized between the trees. He tucked silver hair behind his ear, regarding the two dead sellswords sadly with large green eyes. Freckles dusted his cheeks. He looked almost apologetic when he faced Varsa. 

"He happens to hail from Gaspard," Claude said. "And he's not too keen on how you've been treating it."

Varsa looked between the two strange men, unsure which to run from first. He backed against the carriage, slinking away. He had one last hope, one final ploy in the form of the sellsword sneaking through the forest toward the unassuming silver-haired man. If they could take out one of the odd archers, perhaps Varsa could get away. 

But before Varsa even saw him reach for an arrow, the silver-haired man had it nocked. He spun, letting the arrow fly. It shot through the sellsword's hand and he dropped his blade with a scream. 

"He also happens to be a pretty good shot," Claude said, winking.

#

Varsa wasn't the first. He wouldn't be the last. But through Claude and Ashe's combined efforts, the forests and backways and hamlets of Gaspard were gradually clearing of Varsa and his ilk.

It was no small task for two wandering archers. Even after subduing Varsa and all his sellswords, there was the business of collecting their stolen coin. Ashe had become especially adept at ferreting out all the hidden compartments of a carriage or saddlebag where swindlers hid their coin in the hopes of retaining some small portion of their ill-gotten bounty. 

Varsa's haul was particularly upsetting. And heavy. Ashe and Claude each had two bags loaded with coins to carry back to the hamlet. 

"We better get a gods damned parade for this one," Claude said as they trudged through the trees. 

"I'll just be glad to get this all returned," Ashe said. He shook his head. "How could one person believe they need so much?"

"And this is just his most recent haul," Claude said. "According to what I've heard, this guy has been prolific around here." 

Ashe sighed. The forest draped shadows over the pair as the sun sank low. 

"We should find a place to hole up for the night," Claude said. "He might still send a few of those bastards after us." 

Ashe nodded and they veered off the road and into the forest. It was harder going, but it allowed them to find a little cave made of two boulders that had rolled into each other eons ago and now formed a sort of stone tent. It wasn't completely covered, but it would do for the night. 

Claude and Ashe settled in the cave, clearing out some brush and branches. Fortunately, it was relatively warm, the chill of autumn not yet settling over Gaspard as it had in some places farther north. They set out bedrolls and gnawed on salted jerky. 

"I want a feast after this," Claude grumbled. 

"I don't think the folks we're trying to help will have the resources for a feast," Ashe said.

"I can dream," Claude said. He draped an arm over his knees, staring out into the darkening forest. 

"I'm sorry," Ashe said.

"Huh?" Claude cocked his head at Ashe. 

"When I requested aid, I never expected that you'd come yourself. When I returned here after the war it was just... overrun. I couldn't set it right by myself. But I didn't mean to get you involved in all this for so long."

"Hey," Claude said, reaching out to pat Ashe's leg. "Do you really think I'd still be here if I didn't want to be?"

"Well, I suppose not..." 

In truth, Ashe hadn't expected Claude to assist him at all. After the war, he'd come back to Gaspard with the intention of making amends. But Ashe soon found himself in dire need of help. He'd written to everyone he could think of, but Sylvain and Felix had their hands full with their own lands, Dimitri was king, Ingrid was... somewhere, Dedue was serving at Dimitri's right hand, and Annette and Mercedes were busy teaching at an orphanage in Faerghus. 

It was truly an act of desperation when Ashe wrote to Claude, former leader of the Alliance and sometimes enemy during the war. But Claude had replied graciously. Ashe had assumed that meant some soldiers or money, so it had been a true shock when Claude himself showed up.

Still, Ashe had to admit that their days and weeks spent righting the war's wrongs in Gaspard had been... enjoyable. Not just enjoyable. Great. Exhilarating. Claude gave him hope that not just Gaspard but all of Fodlan really could recover from the damage of the war, so long as there were folks willing to keep setting things right.

And that's just what they'd do tomorrow for another unlucky village squeezed by some grifter claiming Lonato's authority. 

"Hey, you OK there?" Claude patted Ashe's shoulder.

Ashe shook himself. "Sorry, yeah."

"You were pretty far away for a minute there."

"Just thinking."

"About what?" Claude pushed. "Come on. You must trust me by now. You've saved my neck at least a dozen times that I can remember. You should have been a Golden Deer, you know. You're a hell of a shot." 

Ashe laughed at the mention of their old school. Things like choosing a house had seemed so desperately important back then. "Maybe I should have." 

"Raphael would have been glad to have you, too," Claude said. "A cook and an archer? You were wasted in Blue Lions."

Ashe just shrugged. The mention of the Blue Lions scratched open the scar on his heart. What he'd give to tease Felix about being a knight out of a story again. Or to cook alongside Dedue and learn about Duscar. Or just to spend an afternoon with Annette doing nothing at all. 

"It's hard," Claude said, "watching everyone scatter. Seeing us all go on to our separate lives."

"Yeah," Ashe said. "I miss them."

Claude sighed. "You want to know a secret? Me too. That's, well, that's part of why I came here myself when you asked for help. Wandering the world sounded great when it was on fire, but it turns out traveling gets mighty lonely."

Ashe looked over to his companion. "You get lonely?"

Claude laughed. "Of course. Are you serious?"

"You just seem so..." Ashe fumbled for words. "Everyone who meets you seems so drawn to you. I figured you'd make friends wherever you went."

"Those types of friends aren't the same as the real deal," Claude said. "They're temporary. Fun for a night of drinking or a few days of hunting or for the length of a story. But they don't last. You wake up the next morning just as empty as before you met them. In truth, I practically sprinted here when I got your letter."

Claude maintained his roguish grin, but it softened at the edges, blunted by time and weariness and the memory of the many, many friends gone for good now. 

"Ah, geeze, I'm sorry," Claude said. 

"What?"

"You look like I kicked your puppy. Didn't mean to be a downer."

"It's OK," Ashe said. "I just never thought about it that way." 

"Too good and noble for temporary friends?" Claude said with a wink. 

Ashe felt a rush of heat billow up his neck. 

"Come on," Claude said. "Out with it. I've seen how these village girls look at you. You're red as a tomato just thinking about it." 

"N-n-no, I would never--I couldn't--"

"You don't need to pretend you're not alive, Ashe," Claude said. "Your little 'pure and innocent' act might have fooled the Lions, but I'm not buying it."

"It's not that," Ashe said. "I just... Well, I feel sort of responsible. I grew up here. Lonato looked after me. These people knew me when I was a kid. I... well, it's not like I haven't had offers, but I don't feel right just reappearing and pretending I didn't play a part in Lonato's death. I'm not some conqueror here to collect a prize. I just want to help."

"And what about when it's over?" Claude said. "What will you do next? You'll just be alone again."

Ashe grimaced. "I haven't thought much about it, to be honest. There'll always be some mess to clean up, I think." 

"You hope."

"Well, that's rather unfair."

Claude laughed, clapping Ashe on the shoulder. "My apologies. You're right. I only push because I have the same fears." He squeezed Ashe's shoulder and suddenly Ashe noticed just how close they'd been sitting all this time. Their knees nearly touched. Claude regarded him with curious eyes, eyes that dug for secrets, for answers. Ashe had neither to offer. He was just a simple man trying to set the world right, if he could. 

Claude cleared his throat, but did not remove his hand. "Well, at least we have each other for a while, yeah?"

Ashe smiled. "Yes. Definitely."

Claude watched him for a moment, his inquisitive eyes still roaming, still seeking. Something about the twist to Claude's mouth, the curl to his eyebrows, made Ashe want to reach out and smooth away the expression. 

The hand on his shoulder moved across his back so Claude could pull him against his side. The sudden movement startled Ashe, who could only blink and try to stay upright. Next he knew, Claude's head was against his, his nose nuzzling against Ashe's hair. Claude's sigh blew hot against Ashe's ear. 

"Sorry," Claude said, "sorry. Sorry."

He pulled away, but this time it was Ashe acting impulsively. He reached for Claude's shirt, keeping him close. Claude blinked down at him in surprise.

"It's... it's fine," Ashe said. 

"Alright," Claude said. 

He pulled Ashe back in and for a while they simply remained there, sitting close as night turned the forest dark and empty and cold.

#

The village was nearly giddy when Ashe returned. When he and Claude revealed the "taxes" they'd brought back, the mayor declared the next three days a holiday.

Claude spent the reprieve fixing his bow, checking the fletching on his arrows and massaging his aching feet, but Ashe immediately swung into action. As much as Claude and the village implored him to rest, Ashe insisted on doing the opposite. He hunted with some of the villagers, determined that his presence wouldn't create an undue burden. Then he disappeared into any home with a kitchen, helping prepare the feast the village had planned in order to celebrate. 

Claude could have left. Perhaps he should have left. Yet he lingered, telling himself that buying ale and a bed from the villagers was the least he could do to avoid being a burden himself. 

Finally, the feast day arrived and Ashe helped the villagers set a table right in the center of town with haunches of roast venison, juniper and marmalade, slow roast boar, plum and thyme custard tarts, cinnamon baked apples and an assortment of greens and vegetables from every local garden. Children helped roll in the barrels of ale. A husband and wife with a pair of old lutes struck up a song. 

For all his time traveling the world, seeing kings, emperors, lords, dukes and all the rest, Claude had seldom seen a celebration so magnificent. What the hamlet lacked in tapestries and cushioned settees it more than made up for in plain, simple fun. And the meal Ashe had helped prepare was better than half the stuffy, drab fare Claude had experienced at kings' tables. 

Claude hardly got to see Ashe at the start of the evening. Half the village's daughters (and more than a few of its sons) lined up to dance with him, especially once a woman with a crude drum and a man with a wooden flute joined the lute-playing duo. 

Claude contented himself to sit back and watch. He'd forgotten that Ashe had been the Blue Lions' representative for the White Heron Cup all those years ago. Apparently, he'd retained his skills. Regardless of who his partner was, regardless of whether he led or followed the dance, Ashe cut a dashing figure through the village square. Torchlight made him seem like a flickering shadow as the sun sank low. He dipped one man, then traded partners and danced a stately waltz with a young woman who seemed unsure on her feet. 

Finally, he noticed Claude watching him. Excusing himself from his latest partner, Ashe approached the bench where Claude sat and offered his hand.

"I may have one dance left," Ashe said. "Would you care to be my partner for it?" 

Ashe was flushed with exertion, his freckles swimming atop the glow in his cheeks. The firelight cast a glint into his bright eyes. 

"I've been known to dance a step or two," Claude said, taking his hand. 

They walked hand in hand to the open space reserved for dancing. Claude could hear some of the villagers murmuring and remembered that he was the outsider here, the strange newcomer. Yet the entire time no one had treated Claude any differently than they'd treated Ashe, a man some of them had known since he was a child. Goddess, what was in the water in Gaspard? He could get used to this place.

Ashe gave the makeshift band a nod and they started up a new song. Ashe took one of Claude's hands in his and put his other hand at Claude's waist to lead him. 

"Oh," Ashe said at the look on Claude's face. "I'm sorry. Did you want to lead? I didn't think about it."

"It's fine either way," Claude said. "Show me what you've got. I haven't forgotten your White Heron win. Lorenz never quite lived it down."

Ashe laughed. Claude felt infected by that easy, sincere chuckle. He was smiling even before Ashe started moving his feet. 

Claude focused on stepping in time with the beat. Ashe's hands were sure but gentle, nudging him through a turn, guiding Claude through some pattern. Ashe never pushed, never insisted. If Claude went the wrong direction, he simply followed along and adapted their dance to fit. 

When Ashe spun under Claude's arm, Claude had no idea who had initiated the move to begin with. Nor did he particularly care anymore. He relaxed into the easy beat, the flow of their feet, the quiet pressure of Ashe's hand at his waist. When the music crescendoed and Ashe dropped Claude into a dip, he kicked up a foot for extra flare.

The villagers laughed and clapped as the dance ended, but Claude barely heard them. Ashe was smiling even as he tried to catch his breath. His silver hair hung toward Claude as he leaned over to aid him in the dip. 

Claude finally caught his eyes. They were so full, so warm. Claude thought he could have kept falling, sinking into those green depths. 

Ashe sobered. His smile widened to surprise, his eyebrows arching up. Claude blinked several times, but the heat was already crawling up his neck. 

They stood abruptly, yet Ashe's hand did not leave his waist. Their fingers were still interlaced as though for the dance. They could have separated, perhaps should have separated, but neither moved, staying so close their chests nearly touched. 

The band started up again, but this time they played a slow, lilting tune. 

The heat made its way into Claude's cheeks. He couldn't push it down any longer. Ashe looked just as rosy. 

"Another dance?" Ashe said, attempting to break the tension. 

"I think... there's something I'd like more," Claude said. 

"O-oh," Ashe said, his eyes going wide. 

Claude put a finger under his chin to tilt his head up. Ashe's fingers tightened at Claude's waist, urging him closer as Claude leaned down to kiss him. 

Claude could have lingered on those soft lips forever, feeling wanted but not forced, desired but not caged. Feeling warm and safe and close. Ashe tasted like a thousand different spices used for the cooking, and heating each one of them was the love Ashe had put into every single dish he'd prepared for the village, a love that couldn't help but overflow out of him, filling Claude's heart to bursting. Claude held him like he would a promise, tenuous, precious and received with gratitude. Ashe's skin was soft as moonlight under his hands, his hair a tickle against Claude's forehead. Claude trapped that promise in his chest, tried to press his reply against Ashe's lips: _I'll protect this. I'll protect this with my life if I must._

He was smiling when they broke apart, but Ashe looked troubled. 

"What's wrong?" Claude said. 

"Well, it's just..." 

"Hey," Claude said, "if I--"

"No, no," Ashe said. "It's just... What we were talking about the other night. I..." Ashe's blush deepened, blotting out his freckles. Still, he fixed Claude with a steady gaze. "I don't want you to be a temporary friend."

"Oh." Claude could feel his eyebrows trying to shoot up off his face. "I..." The words arrived on their own, yet Claude felt the truth behind them. "I don't want that either."

"Really?"

"I, uh," Claude said. "Well, I've just been thinking, the past three days... This place isn't so bad. I could get used to this whole Gaspard thing."

A broad smile broke out across Ashe's face. It was far more fitting, and lovely, than the worry and surprise of a moment ago. Ashe had a face made for joyful smiles and Claude relished seeing them. He stroked Ashe's cheek with his thumb. 

"Really?" Ashe said again. 

"Yeah," Claude said. "If you'll have me." 

The grin widened somehow, bright as gold and far more valuable. "Of course."

They held each other close, finding the rhythm of the song and swaying in the torchlight. Claude enjoyed the nearness of Ashe's body, the sound of his laughter as they chatted and danced. Knowing it wouldn't be gone in a day or a week or a month somehow made it all the more precious. 

The fourth perk of war: It ended.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


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